


You're Okay

by ollive_oil



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Here we go, Hurt/Comfort, Just comfort, M/M, alrighty then, erisol remains the only pairing i still love, for all your pale erisol needs, for the fourth time today, i project my feelings onto sollux captor, its pretty angsty, like a hella lot of hurt/comfort, oh right, pale erisol - Freeform, sol cries a lot, tbh, thats all thats it im done, theres a bath scene but nothing kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollive_oil/pseuds/ollive_oil
Summary: You close your eyes, breathe him in. You like him like this. You like him quiet, needing, wanting. You also like him loud, obnoxious, and annoying, but this is nicer. This is happiness, you think. You don’t get a lot of this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> that feel when u write what u wanna read and then u cant reread it ever again without wanting to shoot ur past self lol
> 
> EDIT 2/16: i can't fucking believe that nobody mentioned [toilet] to me

“Pleathe don’t leave me alone.”  
He sounds so scared, so broken. Your blood-pusher aches in pity for him, but you hesitate. Last time he blew up on you. You know it won’t happen this time, but,  
But. “Pleathe.”  
This time, his voice cracks and you can see translucent yellow tears trailing from his glasses. You can’t stop yourself from crossing the room, scooping him up in your lap, cradling him to your chest. He immediately breaks down in sobs, the force of them causing him to heave for air.  
You gently knead at his back, under his ribs, his hips. Your other hand is preoccupied with running through his hair. You know better than to stop him while he’s in this state; as much as it pains you, he needs this, and he needs to know he can allow himself these feelings.  
You do know that he definitely needs to bathe. For one thing, he’s filthy, and you’re sure he probably feels as such; for another, the warm water will help him relax, which he needs. Only once he’s ready, though. You don't want to force him.  
Once you can feel him slowing down, you take your chance.  
“Hey,” you say, softly, barely above a whisper. You wait for him to shift, a sign you can go on. “I need to run you an ablution, is that alright?” You pause because his hands have now gripped at your shirt and his face is screwing up again. You gently take his hands and unfurl his long, nimble fingers.  
“‘S okay, I won’t leave ya here. I’ve gotcha.” Reassurance. He loves it. He’ll be okay and he knows that, he just needs to be told.  
Slowly, after a painfully long moment, he nods, and moves to wrap his arms around your neck. His head ends up in the crook there, with his horns jabbing at your skin. You don’t dare make any notion that this pains you. Your own arms take hold around his bony waist, leaving the both of you in a position that might be considered sexy at another time, but is now intimate and vulnerable.  
You know this hurts him, you know he feels guilty. Mainly because he shouldn’t need your help but he does, and it’s something the both of you know but never talk about: that he’s fading, fast. His psionics are tapping out; he rarely ever uses them anymore but it still sometimes has a way of leaking out, usually during your pitch-fights. You’ll most likely have to help him with nearly everything once he’s finally out.  
Of course, it also pains you, how pale you are for him. It might be pitch, other days, or sometimes even flushed; but the remaining overall affection is pale, always has been. Even your black phases are laced with it, and they don’t come all that often these days. So seeing him like this, so open and defeated, it aches. You don’t know how you’ll get through the after-days, but you’re sure for now that you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.  
For now, you carry him to the ablution block, neglecting to turn on the lights. After he’s properly set on the toilet, you get to work: turn on the water, heated to almost-but-not-quite-burning hot. You open the small cabinet above Sol’s head, pausing to give him a short peck on top of his hair, which relaxes him a bit. Once you find the electric candle, you switch it on and set it by the sink. Now there’s some sort of light, without it being harsh on his oversensitive eyes.  
“Alright then,” you say. Turning back to him, “I can undress you, but if you want to do it yourself you can.” Give him options. He likes twos. He chooses to take his own glasses and shirt off, only briefly getting his horns caught. But then he’s too shaky to get the button on his jeans and you kneel down, take his hands away and press another small kiss to his knuckles. You easily pop the button, then stand up to undress yourself the rest of the way.  
When you turn back around, he’s bare as well, with his face looking up at you.  
“Ready?” you ask him, holding your hand out for him to take. He does and you help him up then over to the edge of the tub. He shakily raises a leg, up and over and in; you see him visibly relax at the warmth. The other leg follows, just as shakily but now certain, along with the rest of his body. He sits down in the water, closes his eyes. His knees are pulled loosely to his chest; he’s waiting for you to join him, and you willingly oblige him. You pull him close, your chest to his back, and he releases his legs, allowing them to stretch out. Your arms are again around his torso, chin tucked between his horns. His head falls to right next to your throat, and three sweeps ago this might have terrified you, but not anymore. His arms and hands are clutching yours - for support, you think.  
You close your eyes, breathe him in. You like him like this. You like him quiet, needing, wanting. You also like him loud, obnoxious, and annoying, but this is nicer. This is happiness, you think. You don’t get a lot of this.  
For just this second, just this minute, just this hour,  
you’re okay.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is ollive-oil, if you wanna come scream at me for this lol 
> 
> EDIT 19 OCTOBER: holy fuck i'm re-reading this it's so bad


End file.
